And Hell Followed With Him
by C.R. Ackerman
Summary: The story of men employed by the PMC (Private Military Corporation) Sleipnir Security And their exploits. Follow the men of Junky Company as the see action in our world and another.
1. Chapter 1

Bouncing across the desert flats were five Humvees and at the head the vehicle adorned a red painted hood. In its metal hull, four men bounced along with it. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand and flooring the throttle, the driver scraped chewing tobacco from its small tin can before shoving the black substance into his mouth and tossing the can out the window. "All Junky Victors. All Junky Victors. Break break break!" A tall brown haired man voiced into the phone piece of his Humvee radio. He released the talk button upon it and waited for what voices did come through to cease. "Dealer has reports of uniforms. Pajamas are safe!" He released the button once more and waited for affirmation of understanding form the rest of the vehicles. While he waited for the last response, the man slipped his desert camouflage helmet onto his head, slipping the chinstrap on and tightening it. "Repeat, ROE is uniforms only! No pajamas. How copy?" Once more he revived the tired affirmations. "Lock and Load boys! One mike!" As soon as he released the button and hung up the phone piece, he heard the noise of guns being cocked. Loudest of them was the M2 machine gun mounted up top. From behind him, in the backseat, was the M249, and in his own hands was the AEK-971 he'd carried since 1988 in the last days of the Soviet-Afghan war.

"Adam, I've got eyes on the village! Bearing Two-Seven-Six!" The Hispanic man handling the M2 called down from his standing position.

"Good copy Alex, I see it. Four buildings as expected." Adam examined what he could as the column of armed Humvees barreled towards the village. The buildings were simple brick huts that honestly looked like a strong breeze could knock them over. Pulling up with screeching brakes, and jostling items strapped to the Humvees with nets. Just as quickly as they had arrived, armed men jumped from the halted vehicles leaving only the men naming the top mounted weapons mounted. Adam and the men of his vehicle rushed past a mother and her three kids to the closest building as the men from the second Humvee began rounding up the civilians. Forming up to the left side of the door, Adam was on point with his weapon on automatic. Second was his driver, Riley, with a Mossberg 590 and an all too giddy smile. Finally, bringing up the rear was Ethan with the clunky long barreled M249.

After a silent count to three, Adam stepped in front of the door, reeling his leg up and kicking it in, busting the flimsy lock. Before the door had even fully swung open, Adam had slammed his back up against the right side of the door. Within the same time frame, Riley stepped into the doorway and was moving into the building. Before Adam could follow behind him, he heard foreign yelling followed by the roar and subsequent pump of Riley's twelve gauge. Entering the building he spotted Riley covering the left side of the room, a door to the right, and a black uniformed body with a large hole in its chest collapsed on the dirt floor. Backing into the building was Ethan. Once inside, Ethan gave Adam a pat on the shoulder and Adam stepped to enter through the door to the next room. As he began to move, another black uniformed man stepped into sight. This man's gun was at his waist, but he still pulled the trigger. The man's cheap AK sprayed out several bullets before Adam was able to put three 5.56x39mm rounds into the man's head. As the second bullet hit, the first was pulling brains, blood, and skull fragments out the back of man's head. Adam took steps towards the falling body, moving past it and examining the room it came from. It was a small room with a bed and dresser. Aside form the newly painted wall and body, there was nothing of note.

Throughout the clearing of the building, Adam had heard the shots of the rest of his convoy. He could tell them apart from the enemies fire by their controlled burst instead of wild sprays. Going back into the main room, Ethan had his gun shouldered and pointed out the door, keeping his eyes focused. Meanwhile, Riley had a dopey smile as he examined multiple holes that had been punched into the bricks. "Would ya look at this shit!" Riley practically yelled as he turned it look at Adam, his shotgun dropped from his hands and swaying from the sling holding it. "Fucking Ali Baba missed with like ten rounds at this close of range and didn't hit shit!" The Caucasian man blurted out with a slight Texan accent. "Can you believe how fucking terrible these guys are?!" Riley threw his arms up as to emphasize his ranting while more controlled shots were heard outside.

"That right there is an act of god." Adam explained, a little of his Russian accent bleeding through as held his gun as ease with one hand, using the other to point at the holes.

Riley gave Adam a look of bewilderment as he listened to what his Sargent was saying. "Bull fucking shit. This is caused by pure incompetence-"

"Sir!" Ethan yelled out, interrupting the argumentative Riley, with his eyes still firmly focused. "I don't believe this is the time for this conversation, Sir!" The kid hadn't even blinked, sticking to pulling security.

"Fair enough." Adam sighed, grabbing his rifle with both hands once again. The sound of gunfire outside had died down and now all he heard was the men of the convoy yelling at civilians to stay down. "Let's rally up outside." Adam moved for the door, stepping past Ethan with his gun held casually. Riley followed, shoving Ethan slightly as he passed. Lastly Ethan righted himself and stepped behind them, his hefty M249 up and at the ready. Exiting the building, Adam spotted the crowd of civilians, mostly women and children, on their knees and begging to the armed men surrounding them. Littered around were dead bodies in black uniforms, their AKs kicked out and away from their hands. Adam approached the man with his helmet off, supervising the crowd. "Give it to me Jones."

"Glad your still walking." The man looked up at Adam as he scribbled away on the notepad in his hand. "One guy got shot, Patterson from Henry's Vic, but his body flak vest saved him with just a bruise. We killed a total of six Ali Babas and captured seven civilians. Two mothers, a father, and four kids of varying age. And we did all this in…" Jones paused, taking in a breath as he looked at a stop watch strapped to his arm. "... in just three minutes and forty eight minutes."

"Good to hear. Round up the rifles and throw them in my Vic." Adam ordered as he thought on the information given to him. All in all, it was as good as he could have hoped. He started walking towards his Humvee, passing men who were jogging back to their Humvees to check on their gunners. As he approached his red hooded vehicle his gunner looked over his shoulder at Adam.

"All good over here. Nothing on the horizon." Alex reported.

"Perfect." Was all Adam responded with as he reached into his Humvee and picked up the radio phone piece and flicking it to a different channel. "Dealer, this is Junky."

"Junky, this is Dealer. On standby to receive traffic." Came crackling through the phone piece that Adam held up to his ear.

"Junky has cleared the village with no casualties. We are currently checking the Pajamas."

"Good work Junky. Once done move to Landing Zone Belfast and wait for extract. How did Jr. do?"

Adam turned his head to look over at Ethan who was helping watch the civilians and turning back to the radio. "Jr. performed just fine-" Adam was cut off by the ear shattering sound of an M249 being fired. Twisting around, dropping the phone piece and raising his rifle he saw Ethan with a smoking gun and shocked expression. On the ground was an Iraqi boy with three large holes blown through his chest. The rest of the crowd was backed away from the body, screaming and crying. "What just happened?!" Adam screamed out to the men. With this Ethan seemed to snap to as he looked up at Adam.

"He was pulling a gun!" Ethan called out. Two of the other men dashed over to the body and flipped it over. Really it was more of they kicked it over. Nonetheless, when the body rolled over a silver locket fell from the boy's limp hand. The two men began to chuckle while Ethan slowly stumbled back a few feet. His face was horrified and his eyes wide, but his hands still grasped his large gun, his finger still ready to pull the trigger.

Adam relaxed as one of the two men shouted to him what the boy was holding whilst they picked it up and pocketed it. Adam could hear Dealer still talking on the radio, demanding an update. Snatching the phone piece from its dangling position, he held it up to his ear and pressed down the talk button. "Dealer, this is Junky, Jr. just became a Whopper Jr." He followed up with quiet melancholy laughter into the phone, looking at the horrified Ethan. "He's one of us."


	2. Chapter 2

High up in the sky the sun blazed, its heat beating down on the stationary convoy of Humvees. At the front was Adam and his red hooded vehicle. Riley was stretched out across the hood, using it like a bed while Ethan sat in the back left seat with eyes still wide. He was clutching his M249 as if it was baby about to be stolen away. Adam would look over his shoulder at the shocked man from the passenger seat every so often, checking on him. Adam felt ever so slightly sorry for him, but all he could think about was that this was only the beginning. That if Ethan was that shaken up on his first time, then maybe he didn't belong with them. While lost in thought he hadn't noticed the man approach his door. When the man knocked on the rolled up window, both Adam and Ethan jumped in their seats. Ethan seemed to tighten his clutch on his weapon as Adam opened up the door to Henry, team leader of vehicle three, standing with his gun hanging lazily from its strap. "Что слышно?" Adam asked the man who's only response was a confused look. "Right, sorry." He apologized to Henry for momentarily forgetting that most of them didn't know Russian. "What's up?"

"No worries." Henry responded kindly. "Some of the men are getting a bit restless and were wondering if we could have some…" that man trailed off a bit as he grabbed the microphone by his mouth in his hand. "If we could have some Foxtrot Tango?" A small grin sprouted on Adam's face as he heard the request. Foxtrot Tango was the code they used for Family Time, which was really just burning their excess ammo for the hell of it.

Adam swiped his finger across his nose twice and Henry smiled. "Wait for my order." He instructed, picking up his rifle from his lap. Henry nodded his head and smacked the hood of Adams vehicle right next to Riley's head before jogging away. Startled by the smack, Riley shot up right and looked around rapidly, spotting the leaving Henry.

"Hey! Fuck you!" He yelled out after the man shifting over to the drivers side of the hood and hoping of onto the ground. "Can you believe that fucking dick?" He questioned, looking at Ethan as he pulled himself up into the Humvee and took his seat at the steering wheel. "Can let a guy sleep for twenty minutes? I mean, is that too much to fucking ask?" Riley was practically shouting as he twisted around in his seat to question Ethan. Ethan however, didn't answer, just making eye contact briefly before breaking it to look out his window. Realizing he wasn't going to get an answer from Ethan, he turned to stare at Adam. "And you just let him do that. You're just as bad you know?"

Adam was chuckling throughout Riley's entire rampage of profanities. They'd been good friends since they met and Adam always enjoyed Riley's many rants. Some were thought provoking while others were just down right hilarious. "Oh shut up, my friend, we're gonna have some Foxtrot Tango." Adam explained to his friend who's face instantly lit up. While Riley scrambled out of the vehicle with his Mossberg 590 in hand to get to the right side rear door, Adam picked up the phone piece of the Humvees radio. "All Junky victors. All Junky victors." He held down the talk button and released it, letting the other four Humvees check in. "Foxtrot Tango on that hill to our zero one seven. Two hundred meters out. That's some evil looking sand." He released the talk button and a stream of cheers could be heard down the line of Humvees. "On my mark." He broadcasted as he pulled on Alex's pant leg, making sure the man had heard. He revived his answer in the form of hearing the large M2 .50 caliber machine gun being cocked. Looking over his shoulder at Ethan, Adam could see a face of pure confusion as the young man looked through binoculars at the designated hill. Behind Ethan Riley was digging around in the gear piled on the back right seat, looking for something.. Adam stepped out of his vehicle, closing the door behind him. He set himself up using the hood as a table to rest his gun.

Riley was doing the same with a box of special shells he'd dug out of the pile next to him on the hood. "You don't know how long I've been dying to use these!" He exclaimed, loading one of these special shells into his shotgun. "Ordered these like two weeks ago!" He pumped it and set himself up, concentrating as he looked down his sights.

Adam, intrigued as to what these new shells were, pulled away from his shooting position to pick up the box. On it was labeled _HEAT: Cause Fuck That Car!_. Adam snickered as he looked at the special shells, no doubt they'd be interesting to see. He reached into the Humvee and pulled the phone piece out, holding down the talk button. "Weapons free." He let go of the phone piece as hundreds of bullets jumped forth from the convoy, zipping towards the sandy hill. He leaned himself in and joined the chorus of gunfire, letting off only bursts at a time. Above him he hear the _thunkthunkthunk_ of the M2 as empty brass casings rained down into the vehicle. The occasional tracer would hit the hill and bounce up into the sky, shooting off like a rocket. Explosions caused by the two MK-19s mounted on Humvees two and four ripped apart the terrain and launched clouds of sand far into the air.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes of shooting before the sounds of gunfire began to die out. The men had begun to burn into their final reserves and in wise judgement decided to save what was left. Adam had barely fired three magazines worth of ammunition while Riley had all but used up his special shells. Despite this, Riley had a large grin and his face was covered in black smoke from his weapon that had stuck to him. It honestly looked like somebody had just rubbed it all over him. "блять, what happened to you my friend?" Adam inquired, checking the breach of his weapon was clear.

Riley set his empty shotgun on the hood of the Humvee before listing his finger as he was about to answer. However, he cut himself off with a torrent of heavy and guttural coughing. "Shells spit smoke like a fucking bad barbecue." Riley managed to get out in between his coughs. He bent over, his hands on his knees, coughing up smoke for a good minute before it subsided. Once he was done with his coughing fit, he picked up his Mossberg 590 and walked Karin's to the drivers side door and clambered into his seat. "Fucking shit is worse than smoking."

Adam chuckled as he watched his friend climb in and did the same, resting his AN-94 on his lap once more. "Well, looks like we liberated this land from another batch of evil sand."

This line from Adam caused Riley to begin laughing only to windup cough once more. This time, however, it was only for a few seconds. Needing to get the taste of smoke out of his mouth, Riley looked over his shoulder and called to Ethan who was still clutching his weapon in the back. "Hey, Whopper Jr., pass me one of those tins." He requested, looking to the cardboard box of chewing tobacco cans. Ethan silently leaned over to the box and plucked a can out of the half empty box, handing into over to Riley who quickly popped it open and scooped some of the chew into his mouth.

"Hey man, pass me some too." Alex gently demanded from his standing position with the M2. He was taking a rag to the breach and doing basic cleanup on it before closing it and cocking it. As for his request, Ethan leaned over and selected another can to pass on to Alex, who like Riley was quick to get to chewing.

Ethan leaned over one more time and pulled out a third can, offering it to Adam. "No thanks." With that Ethan put the can back and returned to his quiet sitting. "And no spitting in my car." Adam stated, staring down Riley who already had brown saliva dribbling down his chin. Riley responded with just a dopey grin before leaning out the window and spitting into the sand.

The four of them sat in relative silence. The only words were those coming from the radio, the exchanges of the other cars. After a few awkward minutes passed with the occasional sound of spitting, Alex finally broke the silence. "You can run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Sooner or later God'll cut you down, Sooner or later God'll cut you down," He began to sing, tapping the top of the Humvee to the beat. He paused for a moment and Riley took over. "Go tell that long tongue liar, Go and tell that midnight rider, Tell the rambler, the gambler, the backbiter, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down," Adam was sort of caught off guard by the sudden singing, but was happy to join in with the two of them. "Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news, My head's been wet with the midnight dew, I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee, He spoke to me in a voice so sweet, I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel's feet, He called my name and my heart stood still," Adam knew the lyrics and beat well, but his accent sort of threw it off a little. Russian didn't mix well with American country. But Alex and Riley didn't mind and the three men sang together in somewhat harmony. "When he said, 'John go do My will!' Go tell that long tongue liar,Go and tell that midnight rider, Tell the rambler, the gambler, the backbiter, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down," they snag well and song flowed well. But all three of them were caught off guard when the all but silent Ethan joined in. The car of four now singing along to Johnny Cash. "You can run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Sooner or later God'll cut you down, Sooner or later God'll cut you down. Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand, Workin' in the dark against your fellow man, But as sure as God made black and white, What's down in the dark will be brought to the light. You can run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Run on for a long time, Sooner or later God'll cut you down, Sooner or later God'll cut you down. Go tell that long tongue liar, Go and tell that midnight rider, Tell the rambler, the gambler, the backbiter, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down, Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down."

With the song ended, Riley did a quick drum roll in the steering wheel with a loud "Fuck yeah, Whopper Jr.s got lungs!" With this outburst, Ethan smiled a little as his clutch on his weapons lightened up a bit.

"Hey man, why you been so quiet down there?" Alex asked squatting down into the Humvee to look directly at Ethan. "Is it cause of that kid you dropped?" With this, Ethan's smile diminished as he nodded to the Hispanic man. Reaching out, Alex put his hand on Ethan's shoulder in reassurance. "Look hombre, shit fucking happens. We've all done the same thing, white trash here..." Alex motioned his hand towards Riley. "more than others, but the deal is that it was an accident. An accident." It wasn't a very good speech, but it seemed to help Ethan. Alex could see the smile returning to Ethan's face, if only ever so slightly. "Good, now take over on the M2, this hombre gonna go take a shit." With that, Alex worked his way up and climbed out through the top of the Humvee, jumping off the top and walking a good ten meters with shovel in hand. Adam and Riley looked away while Ethan stood up to man the M2.

Alex would return a new man with stories of how it was his second best shit in life. None of them wanted to hear it, but Alex told the story anyways. It was maybe an hour later that friendly helicopters would arrive. A large Mil Mi-26 with two Kamov Ka-50s escorting it. The Mi-26 landed roughly a hundred meters from the convoy and opened up the rear ramp. The men of the convoy began to disembark with their basic gear and migrate towards the helicopter. One or two men from each Humvee would stay and set up the Fulton devices attached to the vehicles. Adam had Ethan stay with him, to show him how to do it. Once he finished the example, Adam set the final straps and set the timer off the Fulton device. The two of them headed for the Mi-26 and were the last to get aboard. Once they were on, it began to take off and looking out the back, he watched as the devices on their Humvees activated, inflating the large balloons, lifting them off the ground, and slowly but surely raising them into the sky. Now it was just up to the recovery pilots to snatch them from the air and return them to base were the men would be waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't a very long flight back to base, but for Adam it felt like a century of waiting. Where normally he couldn't get the men of Junky to shut up during helicopter flights, they were strangely silent throughout. Looking to Riley who sat next to him, Adam gave him a tap on the shoulder. When Riley didn't respond, Adam tapped him again and lent forward to look at his friends face. Much to Adams surprise, Riley was out and sleeping like a log. Leaning back into his seat Adam had to wonder how Riley had managed to sleep now of all times, but before he could think of an answer the cabin lurched down and shook everybody in their seats. They had landed, but not softly. Nobody was hurt just a little less trusting of their pilots. After a few seconds of listening to the engines wynd down the back ramp opened up and the men began to file out with their gear lazily carried along. Adam shoved his elbow in his friends' side and stood up, grabbing his gear, and slinging it over his shoulder. Riley grunted tiredly as he came too, standing up wobbly. The two made their way down the ramp and into the sunlight once more. They were back at Camp Morgan, a U.S. Marine base that they had been operating out of for the past month. Some of the men had become quite fond of the Marines they hung out with, others not so much. Really just wanting to get somewhere comfortable, Adam took lead and escorted the men of Junky through the camp back to their tent city. It wasn't as nice as the barracks that the Marines stayed in, but nobody was going to complain. It was only their home for a month after all. "Alright, put your shit away and meat up in the Mess Hall. Five minutes!" Adam called out to the men who responded with a collective groan. They dispersed into the tent city, making their way to their respective cots. Adam followed with the men of his Humvee to their tent. "Don't get too comfortable, we should be shipping out soon." Adam explained to the men as they put down this bags. They laid down on their cots after leaning their rifles up against boxes that were scattered around. Ethan however simply sat down on his cot, his M249 propped up on its bipod on the ground. His hands were off of it, but still close enough to grab it at a moments notice. "And don't fall asleep again, Riley." Adam ordered, looking to his tired friend.

"Oh come on, we're all sleepy after two days of driving around." Riley complained, lying on his back.

Just as soon as Riley had said his piece, Alex's head popped up from behind the stack of boxes he called his _Wank Wall_. "Speak for yourself, pendejo. I could fist fight a bull right now." The Bolivian man stated proudly. All Adam could do was sigh, relaxing his shoulders just a little. With his gear dropped off he made his way back out of the tent and headed for the Mess Hall. He left his AN-94 behind, but he had his trusty Makarov in its holster. The pistol he carried since the end of the Cold War.

On his way to the Mess Hall Adam took slight detours. He'd wander around the ground and watch the Marines train with keen eyes. To him, their training didn't seem all that different from what he received in Russia. Nonetheless he found himself at the doors of the Mess Hall and pushed them open. Most of his men were already seated at the tables, but a few were still trickling in. Some had brought their rifle with them and some had chosen to just carry their pistol for the time being. Soon after everyone was in and seated, the sound of a cow bell echoed through the room and each man fell silent. At the end of the rows of tables, a man stepped into the room. He was of average height and a fit build with a bald head. The man stepped up onto a table at the end of the rows and took a deep breath. "Salutations boys! How's Afghanistan been treating you?!" He called out with a cheery tone that contradicted his harsh looking face. Nevertheless, his question was answered with cheers of excitement. "Good to hear it! Now then, you all know why we're in hear! You've been counting your days! Today marks the completion of our contract with the U.S. of A!" Once more the cheery tone was met with cheers and horahs. The man smiled as he waited for the crowd to calm itself down before continuing. "Sleipnir Security and its fine men of Junky Platoon can add one more victory to the list and boy are you all getting fat paychecks. Yes yes, the American government pays us well, but other countries are looking to hire! Now then, you've all got two weeks vacation before I call you back for another contract. You don't have to go back to HQ, but you can't stay here. So go on boys, see your families, go to an exotic place, or just go get shitfaced with a bunch of whores! Have fun out there and don't die off the job!" With this the man threw his hands up to wave to the men and once more the crowd erupted into cheer and excitement. Men were quick to file out, while still yelling, to get their belongings and get on the first plane out of the country. Adam however, stayed behind and waited for the last man to leave before approaching the bald man. "Adam! You did great out there!" The man congratulated him.

"Thank you sir." Adam replied professionally with his back straightened at attention.

"So, what do you wanna say?" The man asked, stepping down from his table. "And get that stick out of your ass."

Adam reluctantly relaxed his back, slouching ever so slightly. "Sir, it's about Ethan Jefferson."

"Whopper JR.? You said he performed well."

"Well during combat, yes, but after he killed that boy, he's been acting a bit weird." Adam explained to his boss.

"Well, that's understandable. He's only what? 19?" The man asked as he started to walk for the door.

"True, but I believe he may not belong in Sleipnir Security. He may not have the mental stability for this."

"Oh don't be such a worry wart. They say that in Russia, right? The kid will be fine, just give him some time."

"Sir!" Adam exclaimed but was cut off by his boss exiting the building, slamming the door in Adams face. "ублюдок…" He snarled as he stomped off, heading back to grab his gear. He wasn't sure what he'd do with his two weeks off, but he hoped he'd catch Ethan before he left.

Despite his best hopes, Adam never got to have his talk with him. However, he did get to say his _goodbyes_ and _see you later_'s to Riley. They'd talked about spending the two weeks partying somewhere in Asia, but Adam had decided he would return to his home in The Ukraine and spend time with his mother, sister, and niece. It had been nearly two years since he had seen them after all.

Riley's plans were less wholesome. He'd even gone as far as to brag about his plan to get drunk and start a fight in every bar in Wales. Some of the men in Junky had started a betting pool on whether or not he'd come back alive.

Over twenty hours of cramped flights and Alex was wishing he had paid extra for the first class seats. Afghanistan to Germany and Germany to Bolivia gave him plenty of time to be uncomfortable. But now was not the time to regret it. His back was stiff, but now he was back, standing in front of his parents' door. _Welp, hope papa is in a happy mood. _He thought to himself before reaching out with his free hand, the other holding onto his luggage, and knocking on the wood door. It was attached to a humble little house that he had found memories of. Before alex could even start reminiscing, he could hear the clatter of of someone standing up and their walking stick. The door swung open and standing in it, looking up at alex was possibly the grumpiest old man ever with a bushy white mustache.

Not even a second had passed when the old man, standing several inches shorter than Alex, slammed the door shut. All alex could do was smile and sigh as he heard an argument through the door. "Honey, who was at the door?" A woman's voice called out in the elegant Spanish language, Alex's first language.

"Nobody!" The old man's shrill voice yelled back. "Just a crazed gunman!"

"Pa-papa!" Alex interrupted, opening the door and stepping into the house. His smile hadn't dwindled, each homecoming was like this since he'd started working for Sleipnir Security. "I'm not a crazed gunman, I'm a professional soldier."

"Bah!" His father grunted. "What's the difference?" He asked, settling himself back down into a large leather chair.

Alex chuckled as he watched his father struggle to sit down with any grace. "Ones a job and the other is a mental illness." He explained, just as he had so many times now.

Before the same conversation could continue any further, Alex was practically tackled. Trying to keep himself from falling over, he looked down to see what was now hugging him to see his mother. "Son! I knew you'd come back! I parlayed for you every night!" His mother screamed out, tears running down her brown and wrinkled cheeks. "You need to write more!"

"I'm sorry mother, but I'm just fine." Alex told his weeping mother, hugging her. "Santa Muerte kept me safe and your prayers brought me home."

"Oh, I'm so happy you're safe!" She exclaimed, pulling herself away from the hug. "Now sit, sit! I need to go call your brother." She pushed Alex into a chair next to his father and rushed out of the room.

The two sat in silence for a minute or two while they could hear Alex's mother yelling into the phone in the other room. Eventually, his father reached down to the side of his chair and opened up a cooler. The old man groaned, pulling up two bears, handing one over to his son. The old man pulled cross shaped bottle opener and popped the cap off of his drink. "I'm glad you're home, boy." Alex's father grumbled in between sips of beer.

Alex pulled a matching bottle opener from his pocket and opened up his drink. "Love you too, Papa."

Standing in his booth Ethan loaded a new belt into his M249, slamming the top down and cocking the weapon, he shouldered it and held down on the trigger. Round after round shattered the air as it ripped across the shooting range. He kept his grip strong, resisting the kick of the weapon. He was only half way through the belt when it's rapid fire came to a jarring halt. _Ejection failure! _Ethan noted, giving the feed system only a quick glance. He pulled it away from his shoulder, using his left hand to free the jammed casing. He was able to shoulder it once more and continue firing without skipping a beat. His speed was something he had trained on for some time despite his young age.

When his belt ran out and his gun let out a loud _click_, Ethan flipped up the top of his weapon and reached for a new belt. His hand came up empty and he set his gun down on the table, turning to look at the supply of ammunition. He'd purchased seven hundred rounds and was surprised he'd already used it all. Reaching to the other side of his booth, he pushed a red button set just below a green one. With the press of the button, the shredded paper target was dragged towards him by a metal hook suspended from the ceiling. Looking up at it, he couldn't even tell it was target anymore. The paper had been torn up into just a few hanging tattered pieces. He unhooked it and let it fall to the ground, leaving his gun on the table and walking towards the man at the gun range's counter. "I need four hundred more rounds."

The man at the counter looked up at Ethan lazily. "Hey man, you've been shooting for a while. Sure you got the money to cover this?" The man asked.

"I've got more than enough. Now hand over the ammo." Ethan growled, slamming his credit card down on the counter. A bit of fire started up in his eyes, scaring the man behind the counter. "And I need a new target." He paused for a moment, the fire died down and his breathing started to get heavy. Images of the kid from Afghanistan flashed through his mind. He snapped out of it when he heard the metallic clank if the belts of ammo being set on the counter. Ethan pocketed his credit card once the man was done ringing up the order. He then scooped up the ammo and threw it over his shoulder, taking the new paper target in his other hand, Ethan made his way back to his booth.

Riley felt his back hit the bar and it hurt. Badly. Rolling himself around to face the angry bartender. All Riley did was grab a glass of berr that was looking lonely. He began to down it, but wasn't very far in when he felt a hand grab the collar of his shirt. The hand dragged him away for the bar. Using the gained momentum from being pulled, Riley swung himself around and smashed the glass into a man's head. The man yelped and stumbled away from the sloshed Riley. "Come on you sheep fucking-" While his invitation to fight was colorful, it was cut off by the feeling of a chair smashing against his head.

The moon was full and high up in the sky, lighting up the land beneath it. Up on the edge of a cliff sat a man in a U.S. Navy uniform with a red scarf wrapped around his neck. In his hand he clutched a letter with the return name of _S.S. Company_. He had a smoldering cigarette hanging off his lip while his legs dangled off the cliff. "Well, looks like I start next week." He mumbled to himself, shoving the letter into his pocket. He heard the sound of a car pulling up to the parking lot behind him. It was a good look out that gave anyone a good view of the city. Tall skyscrapers lit up like Christmas trees while the smaller buildings slept beneath them. The man flicked his dead cigarette off the cliff and stood up from the edge. He walked his way over to his truck, and old sky blue '59 Chevy he'd fixed up. The new car that had pulled up had parked next to his truck. He paid the passengers no mind as this was a common place for guys to bring their date. He opened the door with a metal clank and creak. He stopped when he heard faint cry Come from the new car. He closed his eyes and focused on the noise. He could hear it clearly through the window. The cries of a young girl. He wasn't sure he had heard quite correctly and listened further to hopefully dispel his suspicion. As he listened he was horrified to hear what the man in the car with the girl was saying. _Rape in a place so open to the public? Really? _The man thought to himself as he closed his truck's door. He stepped away from his truck and walked around to the new car's driver side door. He pulled the sleeve of his Navy uniform over his hand and reeled it back. "Fucking trash." He punched his covered fist forward and smashed through the glass with surprising ease. He heard the girl scream and reached further into the car, grabbing the shirt of the man. He pulled on the shirt and brought the man out of the car through the window. The man screeched as he hit the cold dirt.

"Hey! Who the fuck do you think you are?!" The man yelled out at the Navy man. The man that had been thrown from the car was no older than eighteen or so.

The Navy man stepped forward and picked up the kid. "Name's Blackburn. Friends call me Steve." He responded to the question at hand before dragging the boy over to the car. "Tell me, you ever learn the meaning of the word _No_?" Steven asked the boy before looking up. He had heard the sound of a car door open and there stood the girl. She was teary eyed in a torn pink dress. He guessed she was about the same age as her would be rapist. "You may want to look away ma'am." He advised as he lifted the boy's head and slammed it forward into the hood of the car. Blood spurted out form the kids nose. He let out a pained scream as his face hit the hood. Steven lifted the kids head up once more and slammed it into the hood once more. He continued to do so a few for times until the rapist was unconscious. Letting go of the boy, Steven pulled a knife from his belt and slashed the two right side tires of the boy's car. Sheathing his knife he walked around the car to the scared girl. "Are you alright?" He asked, kneeling down in front of her. She nodded slightly, clearly in shock as to all that had just happened. "Good, do you need a ride home?" She nodded once more as more tears ran down her face. "Alright, hop in and I'll take you home. The two of them climbed into the truck cabin and drove off, leaving the unconscious boy with his immobile car.

Steven pulled his truck up in front of the house the girl guided him to. "Alright, you get inside and calm down. Call the police and tell them what happened." He explained to her. He smiled at her with his scraggly orange beard. It was really more of an unshaven Mess, but Steven was always clear that it was a beard. The girl nodded and thanked him, sprinting across the yard to her home. Once Steven saw her enter the house, he shifted his truck into gear and drove off into the city. "Good deed of the day." He mumbled, turning on his radio.


End file.
